Beautiful
by Evalecia
Summary: DracoGinny. Oneshot. He thinks she's beautiful, knows she's beautiful. And he wants others to know it, too.


She was beautiful. There was no other word for it. In that moment, sitting there in front of him, she was beautiful. He knew most girls would love to be called 'hot' or 'sexy'. But not her. The only word she would want would be beautiful. And she was. Beautiful.

He wanted to be able to tell people about this. This wonderful feeling he had when he was around her. He wanted to thrust her at them and make them see… make them admit… that she was beautiful. And she was his. That was wonderful. Even better… much more spectacular… he was hers. He wanted to shout it. Shout it from the highest tower of this drear school that only her presence could seem to light.

He was in love.

But he couldn't tell anyone. He couldn't shout it. And he had no doubt that others noticed her beauty… other male occupants of Hogwarts. He had seen them stare. And flirt. Even if it was painfully obvious that she didn't return their petty feelings. And he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't storm up to them and pull their roaming eyes out their heads. He couldn't pull his wand on them and mutter a few choice curses. He couldn't even do it the muggle way and smash his fist into their face. Though he often did these things later, finding some excuse or another to attack them, he couldn't do it in her name. He couldn't make it clear that she was _his_.

Because of their families.

It was like some retarded modern 'Romeo and Juliet'. It was sickening. She was afraid her family would be disappointed in her and be mean to him; or practically disown her like they did that what's-his-name brother of hers. He was afraid his family would kill her.

He wished they just be together… in public… without worrying about what everyone else thought, what everyone else wanted, what everyone else believed it should be.

He didn't give a damn in hell what everyone _else_ thought or wanted or believed. He just wanted it to be… them. Just him and her. Alone. Without the weight of the world on their shoulders. For once.

Without his father breathing down his neck. Without the effing brand on his fore-arm. Without Voldemort's power rising. Without her six older brothers hating his guts. Without their father's in some sort of blood feud. Without all that trivial stuff about mudbloods and purebloods and muggles and any other kind of anything. Without those unwritten rules about Slytherins and Gryffindors; about Malfoys and Weasleys.

But no amount of wanting and wishing would make this happen. It was impossible. So they had to satisfy themselves with quick glances and secret smiles in the halls. Then, during the wonderful, wonderful weekends, they could sometimes work out the time to meet… underground, of course.

And they had found time today. He hadn't seen her, really seen her, for almost two weeks. He watched her come toward him. It was sunrise, and early morning rays of color glinted off her flame red hair, making it seem as though it were truly on fire. Her hair had used to be short, he remembered, in the first few years of school. Now it cascaded down her back in soft, individual locks ranging in color from gold to auburn. She had her cloak wrapped tight around her against the chill of the air. It was the dark green wool one he had bought for her last Christmas. She wore it under the pretense of having received it from her pen pal. Which was true as far as her brothers were concerned; he was her 'pen pal' and she his, their families just didn't know it. Her cheeks and nose were pink from the biting wind; her ears were positively red. Her eyes, that always seemed to be changing color on him, were sharp amber, vibrant with life. That was one of the things he loved about her; she was so full of life. He loved the few freckles dusted across her nose; seven exactly—he had counted. He loved her voice, and especially her laugh. He loved her body, but only just as much as he loved her mind. He loved her name, and he loved the way she said his name. He loved how, unlike all his previous, meaningless girlfriends, when you looked at her… you saw _her_. Not just her body, not who she was pretending to be, and not what you wanted her to be. She wouldn't conform to anyone or anything. She was just herself.

And she, just herself, was beautiful.


End file.
